


Cease the Storm [HIATUS]

by ShittyHero



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I hope, M/M, Pseudoscience, Reconciliation, Reunion, Slow Burn, Talon Hanzo, at least that's the plan, everyone will be happy eventually, lets get the feels nice and tender, minor mentions of an oc as a plot device, reversible brainwashing, turn it on simmer in a crockpot slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-08-28 21:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8463334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShittyHero/pseuds/ShittyHero
Summary: Sort of AU in which Hanzo spends a short time under Talon's thumb and breaks free of them with McCree's help, only to realize there's so many consequences he needs to face and ends up joining Overwatch to redeem himself.





	1. Mist and Missing You

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic, please excuse me as I stumble my way through. I swear, I have a sort of plot in mind! At least, that's what my brain is reassuring me is going on. Ah, and I don't have a beta, but feedback would be great! o 7 o)b Uhm, and I'll probably add more tags later as I go along.

_Another shot of whiskey, can't stop looking at the door.  
Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before._

_And I wonder if I ever cross your mind?  
For me it happens all the time._

\- Lady Antebellum (Need You Now)

\---

“You...You actually found ‘im?” McCree asked in disbelief. Years of pondering where the elder Shimada had gone off to, and just like that, Genji had found him. Well, he supposed he should have figured that to be the case. The younger Shimada would know best, them being brothers and all. Still, McCree had spent a good amount of time trying to track the elder Shimada down - to no avail. Hell, he almost might have thought that the elder Shimada had died - if not for the bounties with his name whispered down the grapevine alongside McCree’s own. 

“Yes. I believe he will come to find me. But alas,” the cyborg ninja gave a cheeky sigh. “I have business for a time in Nepal. Keep an eye out for him, would you? I would hate to come back to an accidental funeral. Bouquets are expensive, let alone caskets,” Genji pretended to whine through the comm, his voice breaking believably. 

It elicited a fond chuckle out of the cowboy. “I suppose I could...You’d owe me though,” McCree bargained jokingly. “Say...some fine aged whiskey? Baby-sitting ain’t my cup of joe after all,” he continued in a lazy drawl. Not that he actually meant it. It had been nearly a decade since he’d laid eyes on the elder Shimada after all, and secretly, he was anticipating meeting him again…

“Ha! Put it on my brother’s tab,” Genji laughed, almost sounding like had in his younger years before he became a cyborg. 

It had been so long since McCree had heard him sound so carefree, and it brought another broad smile to his face. He never thought he’d be able to hear the sound again - especially after what had happened the night the dragons had fought. He was sure that Genji had avoided him for awhile for it - after all, seeing the cowboy would only remind him of his losses...The quickly darkening path of McCree’s mind was taken was thankfully disrupted as Genji continued, jerking him out of his revery. 

“But really...please, look out for him,” the cyborg continued, voice soft and somber. 

McCree sobered up immediately. “Will do, sweetheart.” 

“Thank you, McCree.” The comm blipped closed. 

9 years. The cowboy sighed, lighting up a cigarillo. He took a slow drag, enjoying the salty, ocean breeze wafting in from the Gibraltan waters. But in the silence following his conversation with Genji, the whispers at the back of his mind began to stir, growing louder as they coaxed him back to fuzzy memories of a time spent long ago in the quiet village of Hanamura. 

\---  
_10 years prior_

Ten years was a long time, and McCree’s recollection of his time in Hanamura was a hazy mix of highly specific details interspersed with out-of-focus images. He could clearly remember arriving on a sunny day. He recalled the vague feeling of disappointment at missing the cherry blossoms in full bloom. He had arrived just barely too late, just in time to see the petals covering the ground like a soft, pink and white carpet; the scent of the crushed petals underfoot heady and sweet. 

If memory served, it had been McCree’s first mission so far abroad without Gabe to have his back. He remembered the thrill at being left unsupervised - to run the recon however he pleased, and boy, he was pleased. 

Remembering the reports, McCree had already decided on his target even before he’d even boarded the plane. The younger Shimada, Genji, looked to be the easiest to approach, and was even easier on the eyes - not that he’d tell Gabe that. And with Hanamura being as small as it was, he doubted it would take long for him to run into the green-haired playboy. It wasn’t like Hanamura had an excess of clubs or arcades that McCree would have to run through. Even better was the power of social media. Following Genji’s circles of friends and their numerous status updates and videos revealed frequent haunts, and McCree was planning on a ‘chance’ meeting taking no more than a week at most. 

The general plan was laid out all in his head.  
1) Check into the hotel.  
2) Let the boss now he’d arrived.  
3) Take the night off, recover from the jet lag, maybe explore the city if he felt like it.  
4) Woo Genji, get the information he needed. Easy peasy. 

The plan had been so simple. Just remembering it brought a fond chuckle from the cowboy’s lips. It was hilarious, thinking back, on how badly such a simple plan had been screwed up by a one, Hanzo Shimada. 

He had had the devil’s luck that night. All he’d planned on doing was grabbing some quick grub, but had instead, grabbed a dragon by it’s tail instead - and been bitten by him in the best kind of way. 

He frowned, trying to remember the dragon’s face. It was like trying to piece together a puzzle through a thick mist. He had pieces of the puzzle: he recalled silky black hair that he’d had the pleasure of greedily running his fingers through. There was the taste of sake on the other’s lips; a taste he only remembered because he’d indulged in sake when nostalgia hit him particularly hard. Then there were the piercing eyes that made him feel small and hunted, yet sent the most addicting thrill through his body. However, he couldn’t remember the exact shade of the other’s eyes - only that they were brown. And oh yes, of course, how could he forget the surprise he felt when his hands had travelled under the other’s clothes to unexpectedly feel metal under his fingertips - a warm chuckle tickling his ear as Hanzo had whispered “Do you like it?” in his ear. It had turned McCree on so much to see the prim and proper dragon have a surprising naughty streak. A nipple piercing, who woulda thunk it? But when he tried to put together the complete picture, the image slipped away, back into the foggy recesses of his mind. 

McCree took a deep drag of his cigarillo and let the smoke and memories wrap around him like a comforting blanket. It had been one of the best nights of his life - so where had things gone so wrong? When had the scent of flowers become unable to mask the cloying smell of blood? When did the heartwarming laughter become replaced by haunting screams? 

The cigarillo became acrid on his tongue.


	2. The Coming of a Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a bit of trouble planning the chapters out - mainly where to stop and leave off for another time -tears-

_My life, -_  
How much more of it remains?  
The night is brief.  
\- Masaoka Shiki

\---

It hadn’t taken Hanzo long to arrive at Watchpoint Gibraltar; less than a week after Genji had given McCree the heads up. 

The promise of rain was heavy in the air, so thick, Hanzo could practically taste it on his tongue. It was as though the weather was reflecting his mind set right now - a raging storm just boiling under the surface of a calm exterior. Each step closer to the base had him fighting his instincts to run away. Normally lighter than a bird, his prosthetics now felt like dead weight, threatening to drag him down into the earth, towards the hell he believed he belonged in. 

One step forward, one step back deeper into the past. He half-wished time would dull the memories, but reprimanded himself for being such a coward. It wasn’t like the nightmares would let him forget, not even for a moment, his deepest regret. Each step closer he took to Watchpoint reminded him that soon, he would face Genji, and the memories began to stir. He could almost smell the sharp, nose burning scent of ozone. He could feel the pressure heavy in the air pushing against his skin - promising storms and thunder. He could see the blinding flash of blue light and with it, the smell of burning flesh. With each step brought dread, as he knew he must face his actions. He was preparing himself to be hated by the Overwatch agents - and ironically, it was fitting punishment. He was resigning himself to being outcasted by them - much as Genji must have felt outcasted by his own family.

His head was starting to feel foggy - though whether it was from anxiety or fatigue, he could not tell. It had been a… struggle for him to sneak his way out of Japan, between evading the Shimada clan and avoiding Talon’s clutches. Sleepless nights had not helped any and he was starting to see his nightmares overlap with reality. Rain finally started to fall, feeling cool and refreshing against his weary body. However, with it came the rush of memories leading up to that bloody night…

\---

_10 years prior_

The eyes of the Shimada were on him; had always been on him. But now, more-so than ever, did they pierce him with silent demands. The death of his father was not excuse enough to give him a reprieve - no. It was like a drop of blood in the waters, and the sharks were circling. It wasn’t only the Shimada-gumi who cast their gazes upon Hanzo, but also the other yakuza gangs who had heard of his father’s untimely death. It was a chance to rewrite the territorial boundaries - and he couldn’t blame them. Had he been in their shoes, he would have taken advantage of the situation as well. And yet, if he had the clan’s unconditional backing, perhaps he wouldn’t have worried about the storm at all. But if his childhood had been anything to go by, he trusted the clan less than a starving tiger locked in a cage with him. At least the tiger would be predictable. No, the clan had it’s own ulterior motives, and the other clan leaders under his thumb, though feigning absolute loyalty to his face, were eager to turn the tides and fashion him into their puppet - or, if he wasn’t careful, replace him with a puppet of their own.. 

All of this he had to come to terms with day one of his father’s death. There was no time for grief, though it weighed heavily at the back of his mind. What he needed to worry about first was business. Countless lives rested in his hands - all the family-members and their various businesses as well as those who paid tribute to the Shimada-gumi for their protection. Above even all of that was his own life and Genji’s. The clan was quick to target his brother’s failures. He was Hanzo’s weakness. How could the clan trust him if he could not even control one boy, they whispered. 

His only human solace back then had been his childhood friend and sometimes lover, Kaoru. As much as he loved Genji, he wished to protect his brother more-so than take comfort from him. To be honest, he doubted Genji was even capable of soothing him. His brother was more well known for being able to push all the buttons that would frustrate and stress Hanzo out than help him. 

He had allowed his brother time to grieve; let the other shed the tears he could not - and he was grateful to a certain visiting cowboy for giving his brother comfort and distraction in the meantime. Hanzo hated to admit it, but he was envious of his brother for that. As enjoyable as Kaoru’s company was, it was always business first between them and the other’s whispers in his ears grew tiresome. _’Your brother weakens your power base…’, ‘Genji will not support you. He has never supported you in matters of the Shimada-gumi’, ‘You are being made a mockery of by the clan’, ‘His failures supersede your success... _Hanzo growled softly under his breath as the words echoed in his head.__

__There was just something about the carefree nature of the cowboy that put Hanzo at ease, not that he’d ever let the other know it. Perhaps it was the fact that the cowboy never brought up the family business with him, or perhaps it was his lack of demands - except in bed. But even then, the demands had been pleasurable, and the cowboy had been more than accommodating to Hanzo’s own whims...Hanzo sighed and rubbed his temples. There was no use thinking back to that night - he’d given the cowboy up to Genji’s little games. At least in that sense, Genji was, in his own way, trying to help Hanzo out by ‘screening’ Hanzo’s would-be suitors._ _

__But now, the games had to end. He had bought his brother time to grieve - a week's’ worth of time to enjoy his last moments of freedom. Now the sparrow had to come home and become the dragon that would help protect the clan. Hanzo stifled a soft sigh, not looking forward to this argument at all, but he couldn’t put the clan’s demands off any longer._ _

__He was quite sure about not being followed, having slipped out of the castle unnoticed. The silence was a blessed reprieve from the clan’s constant yammering in his ears and the toxic whispers haunting his every step. At the same time, it was a curse. It gave him time to slump his shoulders under the weight of his self-doubts which assaulted the fragile wall of confidence he had projected to the clan, and worse, it allowed the pent-up grief he’d been holding back to finally wash over him. In other words, Hanzo Shimada was a mess._ _

__Chastising himself for his weak thoughts, Hanzo firmly squared his shoulders. There was no room to run away. He glanced up at the sky, looking for a patch of sunlight, a silver lining, and found none. Stormy grey clouds were threatening rain soon, and he just hoped he could bring Genji home before then. He had not seen Genji since the day after his father’s funeral, but at least he had managed to get into contact with him through the cowboy and set up a meeting place. Beneath the flowerless cherry blossom trees in an empty, temple courtyard, he waited._ _

__And he waited, and waited, well into the night; the rain only growing heavier and louder, but not enough to drown out Hanzo’s self doubts._ _

__\---_ _

__Hanzo stumbled, his body giving out on him. One knee dropped heavily into the mud, a splash going up, splattering his clothes. A puddle? How long had he been standing in the rain to not notice the pooling of water under his feet? Now that he realized it, he was soaked through and a fine trembling wracked his body. The unwanted shivers brought his attention back to the various wounds littering his body in his escape from Japan. His clothes clung wetly to his scratches and the cool fabric didn’t assuage the steady burn of pain. His head felt fuzzy, his body heavy, but he forced himself back onto his two feet. Once more, he squared his shoulders proudly and walked up to the gates of Overwatch’s base. Steeling his nerves, he pounded at the door before he could convince himself to run away._ _

__Vaguely, the archer remembered the door opening, but after that - nothing but the sweet relief of darkness._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost - almost included what happened that night, but I think it's a story better held for another time >:3c There's a method to my madness! I think.


	3. Let Sleeping Dragons Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which McCree and Angela recall the events that transpired 9 years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, this chapter was written like a month or two ago, but I just now reread over it and cleaned it up. I was waffling about whether to continue this or restart it after getting some new ideas, but I think I can work my way around with continuing this...? I'm so sorry about my inconsistent updates and hope you all can enjoy ; v ;

_I close my eyes, Then I drift away_  
_Into the magic night. I softly say_  
_A silent prayer like dreamers do._  
_Then I fall asleep to dream_  
_My dreams of you._  
Roy Orbison - “In Dreams”

\---

McCree had never liked the infirmary. His track record might contest that with how often he ended up in one, but the place had never, would never, grow on him. Maybe it was the unpleasant antiseptic smell. Or perhaps it was the pure white color that reminded him of bleached desert bones. But for once, it wasn’t him sitting on a thin, infirmary cot. 

He was sitting next to Hanzo, fingers twitching for a smoke, but he knew better than to even reach for one just to chew on with Doctor Angela Ziegler sitting just adjacent to him by the foot of Hanzo’s bed. The two sat in silence, neither one quite ready to speak yet. 

The steady thrum of rain pattered against the facility’s roof, punctuated by the occasional clap of lightning and roll of thunder, softening the uncomfortable silence. 

With a heavy sigh, McCree leaned forward in his seat, his gaze flicking to Hanzo’s face. They were lucky Athena had alerted them to an intruder on the grounds, otherwise who knew when they would have found the samurai. Or was it archer now? Whichever it was, it certainly wouldn’t have been tonight, what with the heavy rain and all. Hanzo certainly...looked different than how McCree last remembered him. More aged and time-worn if the salt streaked tufts of hair gracing his temples were any indication. And yet, that only seemed to add to his regal features. If the mood wasn’t so somber, he would have chuckled at the imagery that came to mind. Like a fine wine, Hanzo had aged well. He was as beautiful and lethal looking as ever; much to McCree’s chagrin. The cowboy himself, though still ruggedly handsome and well built, couldn’t deny that he’d let himself go the past couple of years. Booze and fast food hadn’t done any wonders for his stomach, if the little pudge of fat was anything to attest by. 

“I wonder what the other guys look like,” McCree finally drawled, trying to break the tension. He had a sinking feeling that they looked better than the current state Hanzo was in - as in, they had probably suffered little and had a clean, precise death. That was just Hanzo’s style, if he hadn’t changed that was. Even in rest, Hanzo Shimada did not lose his troubled, angry expression. McCree half expected the other to jolt awake any second and flash cold, red eyes at him… and immediately felt guilty. That had been a long time ago, and yet seeing Hanzo had once more brought back the memories that McCree’s mind had tried to shove deep back into his unconscious. 

Angela gave a small sigh of exasperation. “It has…been a long time. Honestly, I thought I would never see him again,” she murmured, a tiny wrinkle forming between her brows as she studied her patient. “Though, we seem to always be meeting under… less than ideal circumstances,” she finished, straightening her already perfect posture even more than McCree thought possible. McCree didn’t reply to that. He remembered. 

\---

_9 years ago_

_Angela had been at her most furious, a sight that McCree had probably only seen once or twice in his entire life, and it chilled him to the bone. Whereas McCree’s anger was as hot and dry as the sand-stormy deserts he hailed from, Angie’s was the frigid and relentless bite of a snow storm._

_McCree had just straggled back onto base, covered in blood, some of which was his, but most of which came from the two unconscious bodies he was supporting: one being Gabriel, the other being Hanzo._

_True to the hippocratic oath she had sworn, Angela had wordlessly taken care of all of them. It was only when she was done with the worst of them that she rounded on McCree. She looked tired from working overnight, even with a full medical team to support her, but that didn’t stop her from being fueled by anger._

_“Is that who I think it is?” she hissed, pointing her finger sharply at Hanzo. “Why would you bring him **here**?” she asked, her lips thinning with how tightly she spat out the words; swallowing the yell that was threatening to burst forth. _

_McCree had gulped and shifted his eyes, not quite sure how to go about this. He had taken in a deep breath, prayed for strength, and pushed forward as best as he knew how - which was to bull his way through a china shop. No delicacy needed._

_“Yes, but Ang, you saw him! He needs our help! And… well, we could use him! I bet he has lotsa valuable information,” he began, making excuses. He knew she had seen the red irises._

_“And what of Genji? What about Gabe? He nearly killed them both! He is **dangerous**. He should NOT be here. We should be incarcerating him as we speak!” she argued - and she had a point; McCree hated to admit. _

_McCree had taken off his hat and run his hands through his hair in frustration before meeting her eyes solidly. “Please...Angie,” he had begged. “If...If he’s beyond helping, then I’ll admit defeat. Genji doesn’t have to know about this...but please. I..I’m sure that Hanzo’s still in there somewhere. I don’t think he could have fallen this far willingly,” McCree had pleaded, his voice cracking slightly._

_Angela had softened slightly, not able to stay upset for long, especially not when it sounded like McCree was about to start crying. It had taken Gabriel waking up to side with McCree to finally convince her not to let the higher-ups know about Hanzo right away. At least until he was stable enough for transport. Gabriel had agreed with McCree, they needed Hanzo and whatever insider information he had on Talon._

_It hadn’t been easy, at least not for McCree. He had had the urge to run away more than once, to flee those impassive red eyes, the eyes of a predator that was awaiting to kill dispassionately. There was nothing of the tender, warm gazes he once remembered in those eyes, which only guilted him further. It made him wonder, what would have happened if he had just gone back for Hanzo as well. Would they be here together, under different circumstances if he had? The first few days had been rough. The samurai didn’t respond to the treatments at first at all, disinterestedly (and quick to cut with his words and disdain), as if detached from his own body and was observing what they were doing to him from a third person’s view._

_With everything that had been going on, McCree hadn’t realized Hanzo had two prosthetics. That was new. He hadn’t had them during his stay in Japan, of that the cowboy was 100% sure. But he didn’t have time to dwell on what had happened in the year that he’d left Hanzo behind.  Upon realizing the metal appendages weren’t boots, the team ran a scan on them, and sure enough, a ping came up with unusual results._

_All McCree could say was, it was very Talon-esque. A chemical cocktail of low, but constant dosage of neurotransmitters coupled with the emission of nanobots periodically that would keep the samurai in an emotionally muted state. Angela theorized that there must be some kind of signal that Talon had to use to get Hanzo to do their bidding like a pavlovian dog._

_Finding out the root of the problem had been the easy part. Removing the prosthetics had been a little harder - Talon having opted for more permanent prostheses, of course. Regular prostheses already hurt as was, what with having to connect the nerves and all, but the more permanent ones...well, they’d been integrated into the samurai’s legs. It wasn’t like they could press an eject button. Hanzo had been an absolute menace the first couple of days; but it had gotten worse as they’d managed to gain progress. His robotic facade began to crack, then chip and crumble away in pieces, recognition coming back to him in short bursts between cries of pain, pleas to stop, pitiful whimpers that would taper off into dull silence. Dealing with the emotional fallout once they’d brought Hanzo back had been the worst part, and that was the part that had McCree wanting to tuck tail and run._

_Hanzo’s body wasn’t dealing too well without his prostheses; having to detox the chemical concoction that he’d grown used to. Then came the sullen rage as he remembered the things that he had done under Talon, and the pain that would twist his expression at remembering what he’d done to Genji. Suffice it to say, Hanzo was a rollercoaster of negative emotions with each plunge of emotions falling deeper and deeper into the abyss._

_And with everything that was going on, McCree didn’t have time to bring up the fact that Genji was alive - though back then, he was too cowardly to bring it up. Didn’t know how to bring it up. Would Hanzo have rejoiced? Or would he have finished the job that he’d started? McCree hadn’t wanted to know._

_And then it became too late to tell him. One night there… the next morning gone. Total radio silence._  
  
\---

“Have you told Genji about Hanzo’s status yet?” McCree asked, not taking his eyes off of Hanzo. 

“Yes. He told me he will be coming back on the next available flight.” 

McCree gave a small grunt of relief. Multiple lacerations, several of which whose stitches had been pulled out, hadn’t even been the worst of afflictions to Hanzo. What had been the most worrying was the poison that had been slowly progressing through the archer’s body. _’Venom’_ , Angela had said, to be more precise. A kind of venom that she had become quite familiar with in their recent lines of work with a certain sniper. The cowboy was glad to see that at least Hanzo’s breathing had evened out. When he had first set sights on the archer after Athena’s alert, Hanzo had been pale as death and McCree could have sworn that it was a death rattle he was hearing on the archer’s lips. It seemed if Talon couldn’t have Hanzo, then they were determined no one could. 

McCree was just about to say something else when the silence was interrupted by a soft, pained sound from the archer before the other suddenly jolted awake. 

“Whoa there,” McCree called, trying to sound soothing. 

The archer’s eyes had flicked to him immediately, but he hadn’t expected Hanzo to flinch from him as if he’d been hit. It hurt, honestly, though he found he couldn’t exactly blame the other. For one, he’d up and disappeared on the archer without a word, for two, when they had met up once again, they’d been on the opposing sides, and for three, well, there was still the fact that nine years ago - McCree had killed Hanzo’s (now) ex.

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on tumblr for updates @ShittyHero. Feel free to hit me up with questions, concerns, etc. ^^


End file.
